


Eight, Seven, and Three

by T Verano (t_verano)



Category: Anthropomorfic
Genre: Crack, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-31
Updated: 2011-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-25 14:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_verano/pseuds/T%20Verano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In celebration of Jane Davitt's recently revealed <a href="http://janedavitt.livejournal.com/1752869.html">appearance on screen-printed underwear</a> (available for purchase on-line :-)).</p><p>To say that this is crack!fic is true in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight, Seven, and Three

**Author's Note:**

> First posted [in my LJ](http://t-verano.livejournal.com/55507.html) July 12, 2011.

It was lust at first sight. At least for Product Number 030-550857298 it was; he'd never seen such perfect elastic before. And her cut? _Christ._ It made Eight grateful for sizing, both hers (the kind of form fitting that wet dreams are made of; all thongs should be so carefully contoured) and his own (he'd never been so glad to be boxers — and roomy — in his life).

Even her number got him going. "030-550857297" — there was no sexier number in the decimal system than Seven, as far as Eight was concerned. That the two of them had so many other numbers in common seemed like fate.

To him, anyway. The problem was, Seven was seeing a pair of fucking pajamas and even Eight's open fly wasn't enough to lure her away.

But if Eight had learned anything since he came out of the factory, it was that an open fly was good for more than one (or two) things. "Open fly, open mind", the saying was, after all, and you never got anywhere by staying on the same shelf. So if Seven wouldn't leave the pajamas, maybe she and the pj's would be up for a little three-way action? It couldn't hurt to ask — and he was pretty sure Seven had checked out his fit the first time they met and hadn't seen anything she didn't like. He might not be a pair of tighty-whities, but he could still tell when he was being appreciated.

And 030-550857293 wasn't all that bad-looking for a pair of pajamas, Eight had to admit. He wouldn't mind a little cotton-on-cotton contact with Three's flannel. It wasn't like he hadn't been through the laundry with men's underwear before — fuck, he'd even gotten down and dirty with a tie-dyed unisex tee once; laundry was laundry, and it was so damn easy to find yourself tangled up with clothing you'd never look at twice anywhere else.

"Three"… it had a nice ring to it. It was a solid, traditional Men's number, yeah — but still, the possibility of a little genderfucking was obvious, and Eight could get off on that (Christ, could he get off on that; talk about wet dreams).

What did he have to lose, anyway? He'd drop a hint to Seven tomorrow. Maybe he'd get lucky; maybe Seven and Three had room for a pair of boxers in their dresser drawer. And he _was_ a classic. He could bring something new to their styling: Three didn't even have a fly and Seven — well, Seven might be a classic herself as far as Eight was concerned, but she was all about less is more, and boxers not only had more fabric (even if Seven wasn't a size queen, she had to appreciate his roominess), but could offer a freedom of movement that she — and maybe even Three — couldn't hope to equal on their own.

And if it worked out? Who the hell knew. But maybe, just maybe (Eight always did think big, think long-term; he wasn't a pair of briefs, was he?), one day the three of them might just find themselves at the press, getting printed with matching designs. He'd never wanted that before, but lust could take a pair of underwear into all kinds of crazy places, even screen-printing.

The untailored truth was that he'd spent too much time lately going through casual spin-cycles with underwear he had no real interest in. He needed to be bold; he needed to take a chance on lust, true lust — and whatever it might lead to.

And he was newly laundered and still warm from the drier, after all. There wouldn't ever be a better time to make a fresh start.


End file.
